An Appeal to Justin Welby

27 February 2019

The Most Reverend and Right Honourable Justin Welby

The Lord Archbishop of Canterbury

Primate of All England

Lambeth Palace, London, SE1 7JU

Your Grace:

Many of us in the Episcopal Church first greeted the news of the upcoming Lambeth Conference with great excitement. When I was in England this past summer and visited Canterbury for the first time, I was deeply moved by the palpable bonds of kinship and affection created by our shared belonging to the Anglican Communion. I felt incredibly proud and connected. It was with great sadness and distress, therefore, that I read the recent statement from Dr. Josiah Idowu-Fearon, Secretary-General of the Anglican Communion, announcing that same-sex spouses of active bishops would not be invited to attend the 2020 Lambeth Conference along with opposite-sex spouses.

I am, of course, keenly aware that not all Anglicans are of the same mind on issues of human sexuality, as well as a wide range of other issues. We are living in an age, however, in which the Church stands largely discredited among the people to whom we are called to bring the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Having often found ourselves on the wrong side of history, the Church has developed a reputation for being prejudiced, retrograde, and oppressive, a reputation that, I fear, is well justified. How are we to look people in the eye and say that our God is a God of love, and the Bible is the divinely inspired container of God’s loving Word, when the leaders of the Anglican Communion countenance and perpetuate the homophobia and discrimination that hurts so many LGBTQ members of our Christian family? How are we to defend the Church against the legitimate claims of outmoded and pharisaical legalism?

I know that you, like I, take seriously St. Paul’s affirmation in his Epistle to the Galatians (Gal. 3:28-29) that “there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to the promise.” Are LGBTQ people not also heirs of Christ’s promise, Your Grace? I came to the Episcopal Church in 2004 after having wandered for twenty years in a spiritual wilderness following a traumatic departure from the Judaism of my upbringing. I fell in love with the Anglican form of Christianity, because I witnessed in Holy Scripture and experienced in the embodied life of the Church a Jesus who loved and fully included the poor, the marginalized, and the rejected without any qualification and in defiance of the religious and civil authorities of his time. And I fell so in love with Jesus that I have dedicated my life to him as a priest.

The Sunday lectionary recently included the Sermon on the Plain from the Gospel of Luke, in which Our Lord says, “blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets” (Lk 6:22-23). Our Lord did not judge us worthy of being hated, excluded, or reviled. Must we wait for heaven to see our Lord’s promise of inclusion fulfilled? Are we to be bullied, as the prophets were, by people who are ignorant and frightened by the ongoing revelation of God’s truth, as Our Lord said in the Gospel of John:

“I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth; for he will not speak on his own, but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come” (John 16:12-13).

God is speaking to the world; but many do not want to listen. As the spiritual head of the world’s 85 million Anglicans and Episcopalians, Your Grace, please guide me: what am I to tell my flock? When the chips are down, and we have to choose what is just and what is expedient, how am I supposed to defend the Anglican Communion? Must I tell my LGBTQ folks that Cantuar believes them to be expendable, or will I be able to say with pride that you and other Anglican leaders stood up for them? I hold out the deepest hope that you will take a courageous stand and echo the resolute words of the Most Rev’d Edmond Lee Browning, 24^th Presiding Bishop and Primate of the Episcopal Church, who said “I want to be very clear – this church of ours is open to all – there will be no outcasts – the convictions and hopes of all will be honored.”

I have great compassion for the very difficult situation in which your find yourself, Your Grace, in trying to keep the Anglican Communion together, as did your predecessors in office. I will pray for you in love for the formidable vocation which has been entrusted to you, as I hope you will pray and advocate for all those who have been materially harmed by the Church’s exclusionary policies. With this in mind, I implore you to consider adopting the fairer and more equitable policy of inviting no spouses of active bishops to the Lambeth Conference, if you do not feel you can invite the same-sex spouses. This would at least mitigate the sting of our continued exclusion from full membership in the Church at the highest levels. It would remind me and others of why we are still proud to be Anglicans.

I thank you, Your Grace, for your consideration of my comments. I wish you and all of our family in the Church of England and the Anglican Communion a transformative Lent.

Your humble servant in Christ,

The Rev’d Ethan Alexander Jewett, SCP

VIII Rector, St. Helena’s Episcopal Church, Burr Ridge, Illinois

Episcopal Diocese of Chicago

The Episcopal Church

Tackling Prayer Book Revision

Much digital ink has been spilled recently on the revision of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, particularly in the last twenty-four hours following the announcement of four possible paths for Prayer Book revision by the Standing Committee on Liturgy and Music. In brief, the four possible approaches are 1) total revision; 2) no revision, but creation of a Book of Alternative Services; 3) continued conversation; and 4) deepen our engagement with the '79 book. I don't envy the SCLM, because whichever path is chosen, it will not please everyone. So, I want to thank the SCLM in advance for their good-faith efforts and commiserate with them for all the division and turmoil they will encounter. I'll keep you all in my prayers.

In June 2015, I wrote a post on Prayer Book revision that continues to reflect my thinking. My main concern was that, whichever option is selected, the comprehensiveness of Anglican identity and practice be preserved. If we are truly to practice common prayer, then there has to be some theological and liturgical center that we all share. That would seem to deny an "anything goes" approach, although I realize that we have incredibly diverse theologies and liturgical sensibilities. So, I proposed a hub-and-spoke model in which we retain the current Prayer Book with a few critical tweaks, like updated, gender-inclusive or gender-expansive language, and then authorize a variety of supplemental resources that would facilitate ministry in a variety of contexts. This model largely resonates with option 2. As a progressive inhabitant of the more traditional and catholic wing of the Church, for instance, it would be nice for there to be official options for Marian devotions or the blessing of throats on St. Blaise's Day. I also think it will be important to preserve Rite I as an option for many congregations. In a similar vein, we need to ensure that our plan for Prayer Book revision sustains the life of evangelical, Broad, emergent, and other types of parishes, too.

I have been concerned, however, that in the rush to be innovative, fresh, and creative, many parishes have largely dispensed with solid Prayer Book liturgy and theology in favor of newer resources from other denominations and traditions. I know many people will heartily disagree with me on this, and I respect that. I would encourage all of us, however, to reexamine the Prayer Book with fresh eyes, to return to our roots for a season to rediscover the richness of the common prayer that we DO have. Take detailed notes on what works well and what doesn't in our unique contexts. This honors the spirit of both options 3 and 4: to continue intentional conversation on Prayer Book revision and to deepen our relationship with the current BCP, especially if we've been away from it for a while.

And here's a challenge to all of us. To inform this exploration of our Prayer Book, let's do some reading about it. Let's begin by actually reading through the Prayer Book, including the rubrics to remind ourselves of what it actually says, to discover what it allows and what it prohibits, to identify what may be (out)dated, to appreciate the great flexibility already present. Then, perhaps we can commit to some additional reading, like William Sydnor's short, but useful guide, The Prayer Book Through the Ages. The more ambitious may wish to tackle Marion Hatchett's masterful, Commentary on the American Prayer Book, which I have just begun as an Advent discipline. And there are many other resources, as well. I'm sure I don't know nearly as much about the Prayer Book as I think I do. It is helpful for all of us to be educated about the sources for the current Prayer Book and the rationale for the choices that were made through the complex and lengthy revision process in the 1970s. As daunting and as polarizing as Prayer Book revision may seem, it is a opportunity for us to reflect prayerfully (for we are a people of prayer, allegedly of common prayer) on the riches of our shared life as Episcopalians.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Why Episcopal Identity Matters: Part II

Last week's blog offered five reasons why Episcopal identity and practice are still relevant in a pluralistic, post-denominational, and postmodern society. This week, I offer the final five on my list.

St. Augustine of Canterbury

6. A rich theological heritage. The Book of Common Prayer provides a basic framework for Episcopal belief and practice, but Anglicanism boasts a much richer corpus of theological resources. Anglican thought traces its origins back beyond the Reformation to the era of Celtic Christianity and St. Augustine's mission to the English in the late 6th century. The Anglican heritage claims medieval greats, such as the Venerable Bede and Julian of Norwich. It is grounded in the work of major Reformation theologians like Thomas Cranmer and Richard Hooker and the sublime poetry of John Donne and George Herbert, both priests in the Church of England. Anglicanism nurtured the Oxford Fathers who led the Catholic Revival of the mid-19th century, which revitalized Anglican liturgy, hymnody, and architecture. It shaped the Christian Socialism movement later in the century. In this generation, Anglicanism has produced first-rate intellectuals and academicians, such Sarah Coakley, Katherine Tanner, Rowan Williams, and of course, Desmond Tutu.

7. Contemplation and mysticism. Anglicans are not just thinking folk. They are also people open to the deep, internal experience of God. The contemplative life ranges from walking the labyrinth or participating in a centering prayer group to joining one of the professed religious communities of the Anglican Communion, such as the Society of St. John the Evangelist, the Order of Julian of Norwich, or the Brotherhood of St. Gregory.

Chanting the Exsultet at the Easter Vigil.

8. Beautiful music. One of Anglicanism's principal contributions to Christianity is a strong musical repertoire. The Anglican tradition excels in both choral and congregational singing. At an Easter Vigil, you might hear a deacon chant the Exsultet, one of the most ancient and revered pieces of sacred music, followed by a choir performing Anglican chant and plainsong. During the week, you might participate in a Taize service or Choral Evensong with a contemporary setting of the Magnificat. On an average Sunday, you will likely join a congregation in singing hymns written by legendary figures, such as Isaac Watts, John and Charles Wesley, and John Mason Neale.

Map of the Anglican Communion.

9. A global context of belonging. The Episcopal Church is a member of the Anglican Communion, a worldwide fellowship of 38 national and regional provinces in communion with the Archbishop of Canterbury. The Anglican Communion is the third largest body of Christians in the world, after the Roman Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox churches. It consists of about 80 million people in 165 countries. Although sharing a common heritage in the Church of England and the Book of Common Prayer, each of these national churches lives out its Anglican identity differently, according to its unique cultural and social context. Some Anglican provinces are more catholic in their worship, while others are more evangelical or charismatic. Some are more socially and theologically liberal, while others are more conservative. The Episcopal Church engages with these other Anglican provinces through a variety of organizations and partnerships, including Episcopal Relief and Development, which offers support during natural disasters, epidemics, and other emergencies, as well as providing resources for long-term development.

10. An anchor in a turbulent world. Recent research from the Pew Research Center for Religion and Public Life and other thinktanks have demonstrated a resurgence of interest in traditional and liturgical forms of Christianity, such as the Episcopal Church. In a world when everything else is constantly changing, postmodern people are learning to value the spiritual grounding that the ancient traditions of Christianity have to offer.

This list is, of course, neither objective nor exhaustive; it is only my perspective on what the Episcopal Church and Anglicanism contribute to the spiritual life. Are there other reasons? Please respond back with your own suggestions and perspectives and add to this discussion.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Why Episcopal Identity Still Matters: Part I

This Sunday, I will conduct the first in a series of four classes on the Episcopal Church, what are often known as "inquirers classes." Although this is standard practice in Episcopal congregations, many might ask if this is still relevant. In a pluralistic, post-denominational society, does it matter whether we are Episcopal, Lutheran, Methodist, or Presbyterian? Haven't we evolved past these distinctions?

The answer is both yes and no. I firmly believe that ecumenical and interfaith collaboration is vital to the future of the Church, but I also feel very strongly that denominational identity is still worth building and nurturing. This belief is not the result of some abstract, intellectual exercise, but rather, the experience of my own formation as an Episcopalian. Below are five reasons why I think Episcopal identity still matters.

In Washington National Cathedral.

1. Common prayer. At the heart of the Episcopal identity is the notion of common prayer. As the old Anglican maxim goes, lex orandi, lex credendi, the way we pray shapes what we believe. Although many congregations now pray from Sunday bulletins, rather than pew copies of the Book of Common Prayer, worship is still based largely on the forms and rubrics of the Prayer Book. I can't count the number of times I have been in an unfamiliar city for work or vacation and have wandered into the local Episcopal parish for a Sunday Eucharist or weekday Evening Prayer. Whether it is in a country church, like the one my great-great-great-grandmother founded, or Washington National Cathedral, the patterns of worship remain familiar and consistent. In a strange environment, Episcopal worship has offered a locus of stability and belonging that I have greatly valued in a very fluid and tumultuous world.

2. An appeal to intellect, emotion, and the senses. As one elderly parishioner once said to me, "the Episcopal Church is the thinking man's church." The Anglican tradition has relied heavily on deep theological thinking, informed by Scripture, tradition, and human reason. However, the Episcopal Church has also encouraged people to peer beyond theological inquiry and debate to embrace experiential ways of knowing that engage the emotions and the senses. There is something deeply transformative about sitting in deep silence with others, walking the labyrinth, offering up prayers in great clouds of incense, or joining an entire congregation as they chant the Nicene Creed. Episcopal identity and worship engage the whole person.

Let my prayer be set forth in thy sight as incense.

3. Both ancient and modern. The Episcopal Church has been described as a creedal, rather than a confessional, church. This means that the Episcopal Church does not have a checklist of denominationally specific articles of faith to which members are expected to assent. Episcopalians ground themselves rather in the the Nicene and Apostles' Creeds, which articulate a heritage of faith and belief that goes back to the earliest days of the undivided Church. We may struggle to accept some of the content of these ancient creeds, but we recite them as a sign of our relationship with the generations of Christians that have come before us. But that is not all we are. We are also open to the new things the Holy Spirit has to teach us about what it means to be children of God and followers of Jesus in our own unique contexts. In the Episcopal Church, we value the tension between continuity and discontinuity, between tradition and new discoveries about God.

4. A democratic polity. The governance of the Episcopal Church was deeply influenced by the democratic, representative ethos of the United States, which was born in the same era. The Episcopal Church may be organized around the leadership of bishops, but these bishops are elected democratically by the clergy and lay leadership of each diocese.  At the national level, moreover, the Episcopal Church establishes official policy on a wide range of issues through discussion and shared decision-making that includes bishops and elected representatives of both the clergy and laity of each diocese.

Neighborhood peace vigil.

5. A social conscience. One of the reasons that I came to the Episcopal Church was its progressive stances on social justice issues, such as immigration policy, the ordination of women, and the inclusion of LGBTQ people. However, I have also respected that fact that the Episcopal Church is a very big tent, incorporating people who may not agree with me and supporting a diversity of convictions and outlooks: liberal and conservative, traditional and experimental, mystical and intellectual.

The attributes I have just described are not all unique to the Episcopal Church, but in the aggregate, they shape and define our shared identity as Episcopalians. In order for an individual or a congregation to understand who it is, it needs to be steeped in the larger tradition to which it belongs, to identify where there are shared connections, and whether there is divergence.  Next week: Part II.

Blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Baptism and a Broken Clutch

This past weekend, I had the privilege of participating with family in two major milestones, the baptism of my partner's two nephews on Saturday and my first Sunday as Interim Rector of Grace Episcopal Church in Chicago. Both were events of deep joy for me as a priest. And they both illustrated the truth that as much as we may try to plan, organize, and perfect our lives, circumstances can overtake us and thwart our best efforts. Then, we have to improvise. Fortunately, the Holy Spirit does some of her best work on the fly, and often shows up when we feel things are coming apart.

Welcoming the newly baptized.

We had been talking about Jordan's and Jose's baptism for a while, but the timing and logistics had been difficult, particularly because two of the godparents had been living in Alaska. The planets, however, had finally aligned to get the two boys, their parents, and their grandmother to Chicago for a long visit, during which we would do the baptism. The day before, however, the parish's liturgical coordinator--who is a master of executing complex liturgies despite the hindrances of befuddled, but well-meaning, clergy like me--was unexpectedly admitted to the hospital. I walked into church not knowing if I would find everything I needed, who would assist me, or exactly how the liturgy would unfold. But the rector and parish staff pulled together and stepped into the breach to help me. It didn't go as planned, and yet the Holy Spirit showed up, and the experience was beautiful.

Selfie with nearly stranded parents.

Later that day, I received a phone call. Ever since the start date for my new cure had been set, my mother and stepfather, Randy, had been planning to drive from Florida to surprise me on my first Sunday in my new congregation. I answered the phone, and Randy informed me that they were in Chicago. I was stunned and delighted. He explained that they had hoped to amble in on Sunday morning as I was greeting parishioners before the main service at 10 o'clock. But . . . it turned out that, even after a thorough maintenance check prior to leaving, the clutch started to give out somewhere in Indiana; and by the time, they were within ten miles of their hotel in Chicago, the car just gave up. Fortunately, they managed to get it off of the highway and onto a quiet side street. My parents were understandably disappointed that the surprise hadn't gone according to plan. From my perspective, though, I was grateful that the car hadn't died in the middle of a cornfield or 100 miles from the nearest gas station. They were safe, and I was close enough that I could jump in the car and pick them up in a matter of minutes. And I was granted the pleasure of an unexpected dinner with my family.

The next day, I was, of course, excited to worship with my new parish, with my family sitting in the congregation. Although I had read the service bulletin carefully, I found myself at several points in the service falling into old liturgical patterns. For example, I got confused during the Gloria, defaulted to the traditional Lord's Prayer, and neglected to use the special final blessing printed in the bulletin. But God showed up all the same, and it was beautiful. In a touching gesture, members of the vestry presented me with the former rector's white stole, which I kissed and placed over the green chasuble I was wearing, before gathering the community for the Liturgy of the Table. It is in moments like this that I am reminded that improvisation can be a blessing, allowing us to let go and grant the Holy Spirit space to move among us. The fruits of that movement are often unexpected, but beautiful. They remind us that it is sometimes OK for us to relinquish control. It is fine for things not to go as planned, because the Holy Spirit shows up and compensates for our uncertainty and stumbling. In those moments, we can relax, because God is in charge.

All Religion is Local

Vie de Jesus Mafa, The Transfiguration

If "all politics are local," as the old adage goes, it's probably equally true that "all religion is local." Or at least we tend to behave as if that were true.  The day-in and day-out of parish life persuades us that the way we do things in our parish is normative for others in our tribe, such as the Episcopal Church.  The way we worship, the language we use, the hymns and music we sing, the way we run our meetings.  Now, even if we don't assent intellectually to this idea, we can often act unconsciously as if OUR way is THE way. We assume quite innocently that this is just how Episcopalians (or Lutherans, or Baptists) do things.  But religion is, at its heart, deeply contextual.

Bishop Lee installs the new vicar.  Photo from Br. Ron Fox.

Which is why I'm really grateful to gather on occasion with other Episcopalians to be reminded that I am part of a community much larger than what I know and do.  Over the last four days, I've been to three different Episcopal congregations to either lead or participate in worship. What is remarkable to me is the way that each of these communities of faith--as unique as they are--embodies the concept of the Church, with a capital "C."  As member congregations of the Diocese of Chicago, all three are firmly rooted in the Anglican/Episcopal tradition, despite the great variety and diversity of worship styles and cultural contexts.  It can be a wonderful experience to be thrown off kilter, pushed out of our comfort zones, and be invited into something unexpected.

On Thursday evening, I participated in the installation of my dear friend, Fr. Robert Cristobal, as vicar of St. George and St. Matthias Episcopal Church, an historically African American and Afro-Caribbean congregation on the south side of Chicago.  Much of the music was unfamiliar to me, and I noticed several visitors surprised by the exuberant engagement of the congregation with the preacher during his sermon.  And yet, here was the fullness of the Anglican tradition: the bishop, the Eucharist, the Book of Common Prayer, clergy and people of the Diocese worshipping together as one.  It was beautiful and joyous, compelling and powerful.

Chicago Chapter-in-Formation of the Society of Catholic Priests

On Saturday morning, I gathered with other members of the Chicago Chapter-in-Formation of the Society of Catholic Priests at the Church of the Atonement, Chicago for a Mass of the Blessed Virgin Mary, followed by the chapter meeting.  The service was a solid Rite II Eucharist from the Book of Common Prayer with the usual Atonement embellishments. We shared our latest news over brown-bag lunches, talked about the contributions we could make to the life of the Diocese, and engaged in a theological reflection based on the words of the new Presiding Bishop-Elect, Michael Curry.  On Sunday, I drove out into rural/suburban Kane County to celebrate Mass with St. James Episcopal Church in West Dundee, IL, which, as a rural parish, was preparing for its upcoming Rogation celebration.  It had been several years since I had done a Rite I Eucharist, and so I tripped over the King James English, which had at one time been so familiar.  Of course, their customs for celebrating the Eucharist differed a bit from mine, and we laughed over the imperfections and miscommunications we committed, such as when the server failed to do the ablutions after communion, and I forgot to return to the chancel following the dismissal for the announcements. We are all a product of our patterns, our routines, our contexts.

St. James window in West Dundee

I picture for myself the scene at Jesus's Transfiguration.  Matthew 17 records that right after Jesus appears transfigured in dazzling white, flanked by Moses and Elijah, "Peter said to Jesus, ‘Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.’"  One cannot help but wonder what Peter would have come up with if he had been allowed to build those dwellings.  Would they have all been identical?  Would Jesus, Moses, or Elijah have had any say in what their dwellings looked liked, how they were laid out, or how they were decorated?  Would James and John have been included in the design and building?  Would the three apostles have divided up the work and each taken responsibility for one of these dwellings?  Would they have fought for creative control or would they have collaborated harmoniously?

As it happens, each of them is credited with building a version of the Church in various places, all of which look very different from each other.  These apostles too understood that the Church is contextual, shaped by the unique identities, experiences and situations of the people in a particular time and place.  The lesson for us is to embrace the possibility that the Church can look and behave differently than we are used to, and yet we can find a place for ourselves in this new and unfamiliar incarnation of the Body of Christ.

Peace and blessings,
Fr. Ethan.+



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